Medicinal Shots
by Write and Fight
Summary: A series of random one-shots dedicated to the Medic and the interesting ways he interacts with his teammates. Many random things ahead.
1. Touch My Gun

**Disclaimer:** I do not own TF2.

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><p><strong>#1:<strong>

**Do Not Touch My Gun**

Another headache was coming on, and the Medic was forced to reach into his pocket and swallow another large pill in order to remedy the pain. It wasn't hard to get a migraine when thinking about the idiots he worked with, and today was definitely one of _those_ days. This morning, the Soldier had spotted a cockroach in the Medic's sleeping quarters (what he was doing in there, the doctor had no idea), and tried to kill it with his rocket launcher instead of doing the sensible thing when seeing such a nuisance. As a result, the Medic's room was destroyed and he had to share one with Heavy for the time being, since he was the only one who offered, and he had some extra space.

It was very hard to concentrate on work when something like that happened to ruin one's day, and the Medic made so many mistakes out of anger that he gave up quite suddenly on his research and retired early for the night. He also had to stop himself from shedding a single, manly tear as he passed by his ruined room. The bed was in pieces, the walls in shambles, the floor was barely there, and chances were the cockroach was probably still alive.

No one was in Heavy's room, but Sasha was in her little bed next to the Russian's huge one. The Medic thought at first that it was strange, but after a while he figured that it was probably just a quirk of his. The Heavy had set up the cot for him earlier that day, and it was ready for sleeping. Medic sat on the cot so he could relax, swinging his legs back and forth and staring more and more at the mini-gun. Curious as always, a few moments later he found himself kneeling down near it and inspecting it, at first with his eyes, and eventually with his hands. He was so engrossed in wondering what made it so special to Heavy, and why it had such importance in his eyes, that he didn't hear anyone approach until it was too late.

"What are you doing, Doktor?" The voice near him was a little ominous-sounding, and it made the Medic turn in surprise. The Heavy was standing by the doorframe with a strange look on his face. He didn't seem happy.

"I vas curious," the German began to explain. "You love zis gun so much, I vanted to see vhy."

"Oh." Heavy still seemed uncomfortable. "But I really do not like that you were touching her."

"Vhat?"

"No one touches my gun."

"As a doctor, I must learn more, and one way to do that iz by touching. But I am sorry. I seem to have offended you. I shall not do it again."

"Good." Suddenly, Heavy's mood seemed to improve quite dramatically. He walked over to the little bed and picked up the gun. Then, he used the sheets that had previously been covering it in order to clean it off. The Medic didn't know if he should have been offended or not; after all, he _had_ been wearing his latex gloves, and it probably wasn't even dirty. The doctor returned to his cot, and an awkward silence ensued between them until Heavy spoke again.

"So, you are interested in real gun?" he asked.

"Real gun?"

"Your gun, it is not a real one. It shoots medicine, not bullet."

This comment served to ruffle the doctor's feathers, so to speak, and he attempted to retaliate as best as he could. "It may not shoot bullets, but ze medicine zat it does shoot iz still good for defending myself. And if not, I still have my bonesaw."

The Heavy began to laugh. His laugh was raucous and deep, and it was soon obvious that he was not going to stop laughing for a while. When he saw the Medic's angered face, his laughing finally died down into silence.

"Vhat, may I ask, iz so funny!" The Medic screamed, his face red.

"N-Nothing."

"Vell it was obviously _somezing_," he continued.

"It is just that you always need to be protected. That gun does nothink for you. You heal most of the time."

"S-So? They are still _real_ guns."

"Whatever you say, Doktor." The Heavy raised his arms as though in defeat. He put his gun back in its bed, and then lay down to rest.

The Medic took it as his cue to go to bed as well. As he raised the sheets over him, he couldn't stop thinking about what his fellow teammate had said. He was so angry that he wanted to prove him wrong the next day; that he wasn't just a doctor, he was also a very good killer!

As he finally began to drift away to sleep, he heard the Heavy speak again. "But I like protecting you, Doktor. Makes me feel strong."

The Medic didn't reply, but the words made him smile. He decided that he would have to save his vengeance for another day.

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><p><strong><span>AN:** UM HEY, since I obviously suck at finishing fanfictions, I decided to do a little oneshot series dedicated to the Medic and random people. LOL the ideas will be random and strange, but I hope you guys enjoy anyways. And I hope I can put a few more in here before I run out of the inspiration to write. XDD;;


	2. Iatrophobia

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own TF2.

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><p><strong>#2:<strong>

**Iatrophobia**

The Scout tried to hold it in as best as he could; he closed his eyes and pinched his nose really hard, but he ended up sneezing five seconds later when he least expected it. A little bit of mucus ended up on the floor. Soldier looked at him, raising a brow.

"Son," he said. "You should go see the Medic."

"What'chu talkin' about, man, I don't need no Doc," Scout replied, slinging his bat across his shoulders and trying to stand up straight and tall. "And I definitely, _definitely_, don't need that one."

"Heh, what's wrong, you actually scared of doctors?" the Soldier asked, stifling a chuckle. "You're gonna get everyone else sick, boy." He readjusted the rocket launcher he was carrying and continued keeping on the lookout.

"No, I'm not!" Scout answered indignantly. "I'ma get better on my own. My ma told me that chicken noodle soup and pure willpowa cures anythin', you know."

"I hate to burst your bubble, but –" The Soldier stopped himself, and decided it'd be more amusing to let it all play out. "Eh, well, never mind. I'm sure your ma is right."

"'Course she is. What are ya, stupid?" Scout wiped his nose on his own shirt and kept guarding the base.

It only took two days for the illness to spread to the rest of the camp. Needless to say, the Medic was infuriated that such a crippling disease had been able to debilitate the entire team. He wore his procedural mask every day he moved around the base just so that he wouldn't get infected by the germs. If someone had told him that Scout had gotten the flu sooner, then he would have remembered to vaccinate everyone against it. But now everyone was sick, moaning in pain in their beds, and the Medic had to care for all of them. He wanted to draw the line at having to deal with Demoman's constant vomiting and begging for still more liquor despite the fact that he was unwell.

And of course, the Scout eventually had to be called into the Medic's office no matter how hard he tried to avoid it. Everyone else had been there already, strength permitting, and now the boy was basically forced to go see him. The others were now on bed rest for the time being.

"We almost done here, Doc?" Scout asked after the doctor checked his heart rate, breathing, vision, and hearing. "Feels like just a regular checkup." He swung his legs back and forth as he sat up on the examination table and yawned.

"Almost," the Medic responded, pulling out the largest syringe needle that Scout had ever seen in his life. "I just need to give you zis medicine, and you should be good to go."

The Scout could feel his entire body tensing up; he raised his arms up in defense. "W-Wait, there's gotta be some other way, man!"

"Hold still, schweinhund, zis will only sting for a moment," the doctor said in automatic response to his flinching.

"Wait, Doc! C'mon man! No!" The Scout jumped off the examination table and tried to go for the door. "There's no way you're puttin' that in me! Look, I already feel better!" He tried to jog in place like he usually did while taunting an enemy, but after a moment he was doubled over coughing.

"Many people are afraid of ze needles, but zere is nothing to be frightened of," the Medic retorted emotionlessly.

"Isn't there some nasty ass liquid or somethin' I can take instead, Doc?" the younger boy inquired desperately.

"It's quicker zis way. And you should be happy zat I do not need to inject zis into your bottom. It's much more painful zat way."

Scout trembled more violently at the thought. "Look, Doc, I really don't need a shot."

"Of course you do! How else are you going to feel better? Do you need me to bring in somevun to strap you down?" The Medic sighed. "You have to make zis easier on me."

"B-But this is why I hate doctors, man! Well, _one_ of the reasons…" Scout protested. "It's just too clean in here and it's way too creepy. And I really don't like needles." He trembled again, remembering his childhood, and his mother holding him still for shots that he was forced to take.

"It is creepy because it is too clean? Don't make laugh." The Medic knew he had to think of something to make Scout get over his fear, and he tried to think of something quick. Suddenly, he remembered one the failsafe items that he had stashed away from way back when he still had his medical license. It was a habit of his to keep them around nowadays. "If you take your shot now, I zink I have a lollipop for you in one of my cabinets."

The memory of a treat after an ordeal was a bit appealing. It reminded Scout of home, and his mother being proud of him when he did well at the doctor's. Still, he had to hide his childishness somehow, and so he crossed his arms and countered with, "How old do you think I am!"

"Vell, you are about half ze age of everyone else here," the doctor stated plainly.

"So what?"

"So if you continue behaving zis way you vill get nozing," Medic said authoritatively, stamping his foot on the ground. "Now, if you please, Scout? Come ova here."

The Scout almost followed directions and stood beside the medical practitioner obediently. Almost, but it was much more entertaining to yell, "Why don't you try speaking English, chucklenuts?" and run out the door, and so he did.

Of course, Scout didn't get very far; his illness had come back to bite him in the rear. He attempted to hide behind some discarded boxes in a corner before the enraged Medic caught up to him, but to no avail. He felt his arm being pulled at, and turned his head away from what was sure to come.

"_AUGH!_" the boy screamed in pain when the needle entered his arm forcefully, and he was still trying to run when the Medic was disinfecting it and put a bandage over the wound.

"It's ova now," the Medic announced. "I'd like to say you did vell, but…I can still give you somezing if you vant."

Scout was still cursing all the way back to the doctor's office, but he shut up when he received his lollipop and a sticker that had "_I Was Brave When I Got My Shot!_" written on it. He didn't really want the sticker, but since the Medic insisted that he had too many extras lying around, he was forced to take it.

Maybe he could put it on a letter to his mother the next time he wrote to her.

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><p><strong><span>AN:** Thanks for the positive feedback, guys! : D I hope this chapter is alright for you. True story, I actually have that sticker in real life, and no I was not brave when I had my shot. The rest of my physical went HORRIBLY after that ordeal (and yeah, it was like a billion years ago but I still remember the details). Ironically, I couldn't even piss in those little cups afterwards. Sniper would be ashamed.


	3. Is There A Problem, Mate?

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own TF2.

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><p><strong><em><span>#3:<span>_**

**_Is There A Problem, Mate?_**

The Sniper was quite used to being alone. Camping was normal to him, whether it was in his perfectly comfy van as he explored the Australian wilderness, or in the heat of the battlefield. He derived a great sense of pleasure from killing foes far away where they couldn't see him. Sure, it may have been a little cheap, but he didn't care about playing by the rules. Sniper didn't need to see the whites of their eyes, just the tops of their heads.

Having found a flawless position behind a few boxes up on a ledge, the Aussie shot in between two of the packages, hardly being spotted by enemy lines as he did so. His base was nearby, so he could periodically hear the frenzied battle cries of his comrades and the metallic opening and closing of the automatic doors. It was comforting, in a really strange way. The only thing he needed to watch out for now was for Spies, but his Razorback could accomplish that task fair enough.

No one could blame him for being a little suspicious when a lone Medic approached him from behind. But when he crouched and began to heal him, the Sniper knew he wasn't a Spy and turned to look at him.

"What're you doing here, Doc?" he inquired. Sniper didn't have anything against the Medic, but he was barely ever healed by him even when he asked for it. He still bitterly remembered the time where he was forced on the edge of a battle, and almost everyone had been slain. It had been just him and the doctor, and the doctor had taken to shooting at random foes with his syringe gun that he couldn't even reach from his distance, much less do any damage. The Sniper was badly wounded and he called for the Medic at least five times, but to no avail. Needless to say, he soon perished under the Medic's negligence, and ever since then he wondered what the German man had against him.

"Nozing, I just zought you needed some help, ja?"

"Didn't seem to think that a few days ago, mate," Sniper replied, a little angrier than he intended.

"Oh…" The Medic seemed to remember the incident all of a sudden, and now he sounded a bit bashful. "Vell, I was just, ah…" he seemed to have a hard time explaining himself.

"I don't want ta accuse you of anything, but ya barely ever make sure that I'm awright." The Australian shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

"It is just…I have a lot on my plate," Medic said, pressing his lips together into a thin line.

"There wasn't anyone else around that time," the bushman retorted.

"I'm overvorked; I make mistakes," the Medic insisted with a very serious face.

There was a long pause in which the Sniper went back to scoping, and then suddenly he asked, very carefully, "You're not…racist, are ya, mate?"

"Vhat? Of course not!" The Medic seemed thoroughly offended at such an accusation. After a while, however, his expression changed to one that appeared thoughtful, and then he spoke again. "Zough, I zink it is a bit forvard of you to be calling me your lover."

"What're you going on about, ma –" the Sniper stopped himself. "Oh, that's just a somethin' we say in the bush. Like 'comrade.' Doesn't mean anything. It's like saying 'friend.'"

"Ah, I see now…" the doctor answered. He straightened up. "Vell, then, I vould like to apologize for vhat I did before."

"Thought ya had something against me for a while there, mate, but I guess it's awright."

"Vell…" The Medic was about to include something, possibly a more precise explanation, but he cut himself off before he delivered it. "Nevermind anyzing like zat."

Sniper didn't want to pressure him on what he was about to say, because frankly he had a checkup coming along soon, and if he did anything now to anger the German, something unfortunate might happen to his body. He'd heard stories.

However, he did have one thing he wanted to talk about, and once he thought about how to phrase his question, he questioned, in his usual quiet and calm voice, "What's it like, being a doctor? My folks always wanted me to be one, but I chose sniping over it."

The Medic was at first taken aback by the inquiry, but then he seemed pleasantly surprised, and he replied quickly with, "It is revarding."

"In what way, mate?"

"It is hard to say, but…it is probably revarding in ze way zat sniping is for you."

"Really? Well, I never thought about it like that. Makes sense. Medical stuff just isn't for me, and being forced to like it doesn't make it any better. Bet your folks were happy though, or are you from a family of 'em, so it was expected?"

"I vould rather not talk about my family," the doctor said. "But even if zey vere here now, I am not sure zey vould be proud."

"Oh, I see."

Another lengthy pause ensued, but because of a sudden lull in the battle ahead, it was very quiet between the two. With no gunfire and no Medic calls, the scene was a bit unsettling. Both men looked at each other again.

"I'd tell ya to run along to your mates, but there's no rush, right? When we win this point, maybe I could show you inside my house. No hard feelings, you know."

"Your house? In Australia?"

"Uh, no…Ya see, I like to call it my house, but…" The Sniper cracked a friendly smile. "It's really just a camper van."

"Oh! Vell, then, I would be delighted to see ze inside of your home," Medic smiled back. He considerately added afterwards, "Mate."

"Heh, now you're gettin' the hang of it."

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><p><strong><span>AN: **Not sure how I wanted this story to turn out, but it wasn't supposed to be like this, LOL. The memory of the Medic not healing Sniper in that situation actually happened to me on offline mode. So of course I began to wonder what Sniper could have done to piss off the Medic that much, and then this was born, which still doesn't explain anything. Hope you enjoyed it, though.

I had a bad experience online yesterday, but I'm trying not to let it effect how I feel about TF2. Hmm. These past couple of days have been a bit off for me, so sorry if the quality of this chapter is bad or something. Next oneshot will probably feature either Engineer, or Heavy again.


	4. Diet

**Disclaimer:** I do not own TF2.

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><p><strong><em><span>#4:<span>_**

**_Diet_**

"You can leave now, Heavy. Everyzing looks fine." The Medic turned away and put his clipboard down on the countertop. He took the paper from it, browsing over the checkmarks that littered the page and showed that all was normal. "Mm-hmm." Giving it one final nod, he stashed the document inside one of the filing cabinets nearby. When he spun around again, Heavy was still standing there, looking as if he wanted to say something but was too embarrassed to dare utter it. "I said you can leave now, Heavy. I have ozer zings to do."

One of the fluorescent lights flickered on and off above them. The Medic blinked up at it, annoyed, and made a mental note to fix that later.

"Doktor, I…" the Heavy paused, and thought about what he wanted to say. "I have one question."

The Medic raised a brow and sighed. "Is zhis related to your results? Othervise, I am too busy to answer." However, he was already bending over to reorganize a box of medicine bottles distractedly.

"Da, it is." The Russian man nodded excitedly.

"Vell, then, don't keep me vaiting." Medic pushed his glasses up further on the bridge of his nose and pulled out a container of medicine. He uncorked it, smelled its contents, labeled it, and moved on to the next one. Heavy wasn't sure that this method was safe or effective, but it didn't seem like the people that supplied them with their provisions labeled anything anyway (sometimes the ammo got mixed up), so maybe this was the best way to go about it.

The Heavy hesitated one moment before asking, "Is it possible for me to be on…diet?" He looked up at the blinking light and tried not to stare directly into his friend's face as he spoke.

Medic was still reeling from smelling the last liquid, but after blinking a few times, he recovered enough to answer. "A diet, you say? But vhy?" He penned in what he thought the fluid was and put it back in the box.

"Scout and the others…" Heavy began. "Well, they always calling me fat."

"Ah, but if you were not as bulky as you are now it vould be hard to carry zat minigun around. Besides, it is not that bad. You are healthy."

"But Doktor," Heavy protested in a quiet voice. "This…is something I really want."

The Medic could not ignore the way that the big Russian man was speaking; it was so unlike him and it was obvious that this was more important to him than anything else he had ever asked of the doctor. He sighed. "Okay, mein friend," the Medic replied, setting down a container he was about to sniff. "I vill create a strict eating and exercising regiment for you, and hand it ova to you tomorrow. You vill follow it, ja, and hopefully keep some muscle so you vill still be useful on the battlefield. Ve do not need anozer Scout."

"Thank you, Doktor!" Heavy cried out happily, leaving the office as fast as he could instead of giving the Medic his usual daily hug whenever he left his company.

_How odd,_ the German man thought at first. But as he turned back to the box full of medicines whose distinct scents he had yet to inhale, he thought about the long day he had ahead of him and successfully ignored the strange behavior.

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><p>The very next day, Medic, with a clipboard in his gloved hands, was wandering around the base looking for his hulking buddy. He had all the instructions to the dieting plan written upon the papers held in place by the metal clip, and he made careful arrangements not to have anybody else sneak a glance at the precious articles of information as he walked around. Surely if someone peeked at the words they would make fun of Heavy later on, and the Medic was adamant in his quest to be certain that the Russian would no longer be uncomfortable in their camp.<p>

"Heavy! Zhere you are," the doctor exclaimed, finding his friend snacking on a sandvich in his room. He put a hand on his hip. "Vhat are you doing? Dieting is very serious business, from ze very first day onwards. You should have come to see me zhis morning. Here, your dieting plan. I hope you take it seriously!" The Medic handed him the entire clipboard and crossed his arms expectantly over his chest.

The Heavy never looked more confused in his life. "Diet?" he asked, staring at the documents before him.

"Ja, a diet. You needed to be on one, remember?" the Medic began to tap his foot on the ground now.

"No. Where is dis coming from, Doktor? You think I need diet?" Heavy inquired, looking a little bit hurt.

"Schweinhund! You personally asked me yesterday to put you on one, and I vorked so hard on it!"

"I never saw you yesterday. I was on guard duty all day killing pesky baby Scouts that got too close to point."

"Vhat? Impossible! Your appointment was yesterday, and I did your entire checkup." The Medic's brow was furrowed now in deep bewilderment of their two differing stories. "Everyzing came out perfect, and zhen you asked me to put you on a diet, so I made zhis for you."

"I never asked you to put me on diet," Heavy countered, also puzzled. "Doktor, have you been smelling one too many potion lately?"

"Oh, vhy you! I ought to smack you upside ze head with my bonesaw," Medic raged on, his anger heightened by the mystery before them.

Loud snorting nearby suddenly became very audible to the pair, and the Heavy stood up to investigate it, Medic following behind him and muttering strange curses in a foreign tongue.

Spy was half-cloaked in one corner of the hallway outside, his device shutting on and off as he laughed crazily at the two fools he had tricked. He did not notice them until Heavy picked him up easily by the collar of his suit and turned him around so that he could look at him in the eye.

"You. Dis is your doing?" the Russian asked, anger evident in his voice.

The Medic's face was completely red. "I vill donate every one your organs vhile you are avake as punishment!"

"Let us not get so hasty here, gentlemen." The Spy cleared his throat smoothly, and spoke in his regular French accent. "Now, I may have masterminded all of this, but I assure you that it was all in good fun."

"Zhen maybe you vill not mind if we beat ze snot out of you, all in good fun?" the Medic remarked, pulling out one of his many saws.

"I do not think he will," Heavy joined in, sharing the doctor's crazed, bloodthirsty smile.

"Oh, merde."

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><p><strong><span>AN:** I feel a lot better now, and I didn't want to disappoint anyone, so I wrote the rest of this idea and put it up. Sorry if it has mistakes, it's...5:30 AM, WOW. Well. I guess I'd better get to bed.

Also, I'm planning to be Medic for Halloween this year, and so far my bonesaw is mostly made. FEELS GOOD MAN. I'm not useless.


	5. Midnight Appointment

**Disclaimer:** Don't own TF2.

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><p><em><strong>#5:<strong>_

_**Midnight Appointment**_

The Medic knew by now he was dreaming, but that didn't mean he had to ruin the perfect moment he was currently having in his trance by needlessly waking up. In his dream, every other class was crowding around him in his immaculate, white office, excitedly shouting about how amazing the doctor was for curing death itself. Just as he was being sung many praises while his teammates hoisted him up onto their shoulders, a singular poke unexpectedly snapped him out of his rest.

"V-Vhat?" The fact that he was being roused so late was an alarming detail in itself; Medic immediately assumed that an emergency was occurring in the base and he groped in the darkness for his glasses, heart racing as he did so.

Engineer's smooth voice filled his ears, coming directly from the right side of his bed. "Doc, I know it's late, but…" As soon as he heard those words, the Medic knew that it wasn't a crisis, and so his mood immediately soured.

"But _vhat_, Engineer?" he asked, trying lamely to disguise the bitterness in his voice.

"I've been havin' this real bad pain in my chest fer the past few days, and this time it's keepin' me up. Thought I should come to you. Sorry fer wakin' ya."

"Ah, I see." The Medic cleared his throat, feeling a little guilty for being so hasty in judging that the Engineer didn't have a serious enough problem to be waking him up for. "Vait in my office vhile I get dressed; I vill be viz you shortly."

"Thanks, Doc." He left quickly after that, his signature yellow hat vanishing quite suddenly behind the door.

Even though the Medic wanted to help his hard-hatted friend, he couldn't smother the sigh that soon escaped his lips as he took off his sleeping attire and slipped on his usual lab coat and gloves too many hours earlier than he usually would have.

As he stepped into his office, he noticed how nervous the Engineer seemed and instantly attempted to calm his fears. "I am sure that perhaps you have just not been eating right lately. But I vill give you a full checkup anyvay."

"'Preciate it, Doc," Engineer muttered.

"Um, by ze vay, how did you get into my room? I lock ze door every night…" The Medic began rummaging through his cabinets for a stethoscope.

"Yer seriously askin' me that?" the Texan chuckled a little darkly. "I specialize in all kinds of mechanical doohickeys; locks ain't a problem for me."

"Oh…alright," Medic whispered, slightly worried.

"Don't be afraid, Doc, I'd never come into yer room fer anythin' that ain't a medical problem." The Engineer stood still as the Medic pressed the end of the stethoscope up against his chest so he could listen for an irregular heartbeat.

"You are quite sharp," the doctor nervously laughed as he took note of what he heard with the instrument. "But of course that is to be expected for a man of your intellect."

"Aw, Doc, aren't you a mighty big flatterer? Yer pretty smart yerself, bein' a doctor an' all." The Engineer suddenly smacked him hard on the back in a friendly gesture that nearly made the Medic tumble down onto the ground in a mess. His hearty laugh after having done this made it even harder to continue listening for any irregularities; the doctor just grit his teeth quietly and bore through it.

After a few moments, Medic was finally able to determine that there wasn't anything up with his heart, and he swiftly moved on to the other tests. Because of the medicine man's silence, the Engineer got nervous again during the examination, even twiddling his thumbs and tapping a foot against the chair absentmindedly.

"Everyzing seems to be fine; your blood pressure is a bit abnormal, but I vill give you some pills to help you wiz zhat and your pain. You vill be fine, it does not seem like a huge problem to me."

"Can't tell ya how happy that makes me, Doc," the Engineer said excitedly, shaking the Medic's hand.

Once the pills were given to him, the Medic was smiling at the thought of collapsing in his bed again. But the Engineer still seemed wide awake, and like a true Southerner, started a friendly, pointless conversation with him. However, it actually turned out to be quite appealing to the German.

"Ever think we should combine our brainpower, you know, and do somethin' really cool together? It'd prolly be illegal, but heck, sure sounds fun…"

"Vhat do you mean?" The Medic's interest, though, was piqued, and while he pretended to be busy with putting away his medical instruments, he was listening intently.

"Like, uh, ever wonder how cool it'd be to create a cyborg, or a super-soldier, or somethin' cool like that? We're the smartest guys here, after all, I'm sure we could do it. With yer knowledge of the body and my experience in machines, we could do somethin' purty beneficial to mankind."

"That definitely sounds…intriguing," the Medic admitted. "Alzough zhis reeks of _Frankenstein_ to me, personally."

"Thought of that, too. We could build an off-switch, and programmin' it to not turn against us would eliminate any fears of it tryin' ta kill us. Kinda like my sentries, but the cyborg would be more human, and stronger, too."

"You are more devious zhen I originally zought you were," the Medic laughed. "But honestly, I like your way of zinking."

"Glad ya do, Doc, else I sound like a loon."

"Haha, I know zhat feeling quite vell."

They talked for a little bit longer, entertaining the cyborg idea for a short amount of time before the Engineer admitted that lack of proper sleep meant any idea sounded good to him at that hour, and in the morning he would probably forget ever having that conversation with him.

"It vas still nice talking to you, Engineer," the Medic said, shaking hands with him once more before the man left his sight again.

"You too. Night, Doc."

The Medic never made it back to his bed that night; he was found in a deep sleep on the floor of his office the next morning. Assuming that he was just working late again, everyone ignored it and went on with their day, but the Engineer stopped by to put a blanket on him before he went out to get himself some good ol' breakfast ribs.

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><p><strong><span>AN:** I actually kind of like this chapter; I hope I was true to everyone's characters in it. And of course, I hope you guys enjoyed it. Demoman is up next!


	6. A Little Drink

**Disclaimer:** Do not own TF2.

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><p><em><strong>#6:<strong>_

_**A Little Drink**_

"Ve go zrough zis every time you have a checkup," the doctor sighed, putting his head in his hands. "You must stop zis binge drinking habit of yours, if you vant to live much longer."

"Aye, Doc, I'll stop…" the Demoman responded, pausing for a long time and then staring off into the space above Medic's head.

The Medic snapped back into attention at the Scotsman's behavior, and began to stare at him very intently, leaning forward as he did so. "Are you…drunk right now?" he asked, almost whispering the dreaded question he half-knew the answer to.

"Ah, ye – I mean no. 'Course not. What kinda man do you take me fer?"

"Demoman!" The Medic sharply reprimanded. His voice was so loud that even the cyclops facing him jumped in surprise, despite his slower reflexes because of being under the influence of alcohol. "How _dare_ you come to an appointment of mine inebriated? Do not try to hide it; I can smell it on you."

Although at first he was taken aback, the Demoman soon regained his bearings and glared back at the doctor. "I never asked ye for help; hell, I don' even like goin' to these so-called 'checkups.' What do ye do 'em fer? Ye don' even 'ave a medical license, and it's just plain snoopin'."

The Medic couldn't suppress the gasp that escaped his lips after such an insult. "I vant to keep my teammates healzy, is zat so bad? Vhy do you resist so much? If you people are not at your best out zere, zen what hope do ve have of vinning?"

"I don' hear anythin' but whinin' comin' out o' yer mouth," Demoman replied.

"Vhining!" Medic nearly screamed. He was so angry that he wanted to throw something at the Scot, but he settled on trying to maintain a professional attitude and doing something much less dramatic. His face had turned scarlet during the argument, and his glasses were beginning to slip down the ridge of his nose. Demoman gave him a cheeky smirk, as though he knew exactly what he was doing to push the doctor's buttons. The Medic shoved his spectacles back up to their respectful place with one finger and then started speaking in a calm voice. "If you are not going to cooperate villingly, zen I have no choice but to implement ze changes to your routine myself."

"Ye will have about as much luck wi' that as ye do pronouncing yer double ya's."

The Medic ground his teeth together in irritation. "You may leave now, Demoman."

* * *

><p>It took a total of three days for the Scotsman to realize what the Medic had really meant by 'changes to your routine.' Starting with the moment he tried to take a swig from one of the bottles of scrumpy he stored in his closet, the Demoman noticed that it had been opened prior to him getting to it. He tried to ignore it, but once he actually attempted to take a drink, the taste that rushed down his throat wasn't the familiar flavor that he was accustomed to having: instead, it was pure vinegar.<p>

After spluttering the sickening liquid out of his mouth, the Demoman was dead-set on finding the no-good doctor and perhaps give him a good knock on the head or two for messing with his alcohol. The Medic had absolutely no business trying to fix him; it wasn't as if he knew that he had reasons to drink. Demoman could not stay his hand from grasping every alcoholic beverage in his possession until it was empty, because he needed to put off the demons that plagued his every waking thought.

The Medic was happily chatting away with Engineer in the cafeteria over some second-rate breakfast food. They seemed to be in a passionate discussion over something completely incomprehensible to the Heavy sitting at a table next them, but at that moment the Demoman didn't care who was nearby. He walked right over to the doctor and forced him to stand up by yanking him roughly on the collar.

"Vhat do you zink you are doing!" Medic cried out, his voice sounding slightly strangled.

"What did _ye_ think ye were doin' with _my_ scrumpy, ya quack?" Demoman asked.

"I vas _trying_ to help you, now let me go, you brute!"

Before long, both Engineer and Heavy were trying to separate the pair with some success. The Scotsman was trying to cuff Medic one across the face, but the doctor was soon silently protected by the meat shield known as Heavy Weapons Guy, and the blow was easily deflected.

"Now I dunno why you look so bent out of shape, Demo, but it seems to me that the Doc was only tryin' ta help. He's a good feller," Engineer commented in his soft voice.

"He replaced my scrumpy wi' vinegar, an' hid the rest!" Demoman responded angrily, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I didn' ask 'im to help me."

"Look here, Demo, I –" Engineer was rapidly cut off by the man he was defending.

"You are right, my friend," the Medic said, addressing the Demoman and peeking out from behind Heavy. "Zis problem zat you have is more for ze psychologists to answer, and I had no business trying to change your…nutritional regime."

"Finally ye see what I mean."

The Medic straightened himself up and stood beside Heavy. After adjusting his tie, he said, "I may not be a zherapist, but perhaps you could tell me yourself vhat drives you to drinking…someday."

"Heh. Yeah. Maybe someday." The Demoman appeared happy again, but soon after that, he suddenly seemed troubled again. "Where did ye put th' rest o' th' scrumpy?"

"Oh! Somevhere in 2fort…I hope no one else has found it."

Demoman had to endeavor in order to suppress his disappointment. "I'll try ta get it, when I can."

Engineer and Heavy had gone back to eating, since the remaining embers of the fight had now died down. Neither of them expected the Medic to back down so gracefully, and stared after the two in confusion as they exchanged a few more words.

"I can help you find it," the Medic offered eagerly once they were, for the most part, alone.

"'Tis alright," Demoman answered, waving off his concern. "But before I go, I jus' remembered. Ya know that thing I say to you whenever I dominate ye –"

"It is no problem. I do not have a vife."

"Oh, well – I jus' figured. Ye seem like a family man."

"Vell…thank you," the Medic was staring at the floor a little apprehensively, as if the subject that they were approaching was becoming extremely uncomfortable to him.

Not wanting to pry, the Demoman pondered for a moment before saying, "I wonder if ye need th' alcohol more'n I do."

The Medic chuckled in a low voice to himself. Abruptly, he brightened up when he recalled that his two friends were close to them. "You should join us in breakfast," he proposed gently.

"I, ah…" Demoman stopped himself from respectfully declining. Since there were no more hard feelings, he thought that just one bite wouldn't hurt. "Why, sure."

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN:** Ahh, I dunno where I was going with this (once again). But I hope you guys like. I need to learn to write better.


	7. Aftermath

**_#7:_**

**_Aftermath_**

Hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, the Medic couldn't feel anything but the steady pounding of his own heart as the merciless hail pelted his little car on the abandoned and snow-filled stone street. He lowered his head until it lightly touched the edge of the wheel, and relaxed his grip on it a bit. Why he thought this stupid idea would work, he didn't know. He wanted some semblance of what had been, what was now far-gone and unattainable. But the war, it was finally over. The conclusion of the endless fighting was the main topic of conversation back at the base camp for all of them. Sometimes, people even bet money over when it would finally end. And the Medic would always sit very still when they spoke about the end, barely ever saying a word. Training his mind to think that his friends would always be there. Like little spirits doomed to haunt one place for the rest of eternity, except that they would never be alone because they would always have each other. It was blasphemous to think that his comrades had lives to return to.

The Sniper lived in a camper van; he didn't need to see his disappointed folks.

Not much was known about the Spy, but there couldn't possibly be anything left for him in France.

Even less was known about the Pyro, but his only talents assured the doctor that the masked person would never be able to integrate them self properly back into society.

Why would the Heavy choose to go back to Russia?

Soldier would always be the leader; he wouldn't leave because he adored war as if it was his only son.

Demoman's constant drunkenness would never be tolerable to anybody else but all of them.

The Engineer probably had a family, but there was no real reason, in the Medic's eyes, for him to want to leave them.

Scout was probably the most promising out of the group, mainly because he was so young and his skills would possibly lead him to pursue a career in professional baseball. But when that more than likely crashed and burned, where would he be? Right back at base camp, of course. Ready for more killing.

And of course, the Medic himself _had_ nothing else to return to; he wanted to be able to perpetually be with his friends and use them to satisfy his medical curiosity. Until the end of time.

"_They will always need my help,"_ he told himself when they were all waxing nostalgia around the campfire about their old homes. _"That will never change."_

But now, five years later, the Medic was all alone. All those _nevers_ and _always_ had proven false, vanishing into thin air like smoke from the end of a cigarette. It was driving him crazy. The person who he assumed would want to see him the most, the Heavy, was nowhere on this road, and now his car was stuck in all this piled-up snow, unmoving like his resolve.

This was the street where he was supposed to be.

Except, how useful would that information be when the doctor didn't even know the Russian's goddamned name? How was he going to ask for him (once he found someone who spoke English)?

"Oh, I am looking for an old friend of mine, back in the war we fought in. His name? It is…uh, the Heavy."

They would have looked at him like if he was crazy, which wasn't far from the truth, but the Medic still wanted to wallow privately in his own insanity. The entire world didn't need to know that he was still suffering so much.

It wasn't insane to think that nine people could still be friends, even when the war that bound them together was over, right?

The sad part about it was that Heavy's address was the only one he knew. None of them thought to give each other the tools to find one another again; mainly because the war ended so soon that they had all been dazed when it was over, and most of the team vanished without a trace soon after.

_Did they hate each other that much? Was I blind?_

Still, if anyone had ever received the Medic's address, it was probably long-past invalid now, because he had moved around so much that even he didn't know where to tell the various companies to send the bills. The one thing he always clung to, something that had always comforted him, however, was the slip of paper written in Heavy's own messy, child-like handwriting that told him where he would be able to find him.

_It's been five years. Of course he isn't here anymore._

That sudden thought smoldered within him even worse; it was as if a live coal burned a hole right through his chest and landed in the pit of his stomach. His only hope was destroyed, and the façade was crumbling into ash.

He began to ram his forehead against the horn on the steering wheel, not caring if he managed to press it down hard enough to activate the blaring noise. The doctor didn't want to admit it, but he also began to cry a little bit. He raised his glasses with a finger to wipe the little tears away.

Suddenly, someone was knocking on the window outside. The Medic immediately knew he didn't want to see who it was. Good God, what if it was an angry Russian ready to tear him apart for disturbing the peace? He wasn't sure if he wanted to die yet.

But when he turned his head very slightly to his right, he saw the Heavy's face in the glass. The man was squinting at him as if he wasn't sure he wanted to believe what he was seeing. The Medic wasn't sure he wanted to believe it, either.

As quickly as Scout with the intelligence on his back, the Medic leaped into action and opened the car door. "Heavy!" he shouted, hoping that the tears had dried enough so that it didn't look like he had been weeping earlier. The man looked a bit different, seeing as he had aged a bit and had many layers on to protect himself from the cold, but the Medic could tell that it was him nonetheless.

The German felt big and strong arms pull him into a big hug, dragging him straight out of the car so that his head was completely covered by weighty snowflakes in the minute or two of silence that preceded the embrace.

"Heavy…i-it's c-c-c-old," Medic spluttered after a while. It was embarrassing that he hadn't bundled up enough to tough it out in Russia, but he had to be honest that when he boarded the plane he wasn't thinking about the cold.

Wordlessly, the Heavy placed him back in the car and then joined him within it, closing the door after him. He hadn't spoken yet, but he seemed just as elated as his former comrade.

"What is little doktor doing here?" he finally inquired, once the silence between them had stretched on for far too long. His habit of calling other people small apparently hadn't left him.

The Medic was still shaking, for more than one reason, but he was still able to answer him. "Looking for you…" He had to turn his head so that the other man wouldn't see him acting so weak; he felt as though he would have fallen to the ground if he was forced to stand up at that moment.

"But why?" the Heavy seemed genuinely confused about this. "Your life is good, da?"

"I just had to see one of my friends again, and you happened to be the only one to give me your address…" the Medic explained hastily. "My life is not as good as you probably think it is."

"Your accent…" Heavy was taken aback; the recognizable German accent was one of the things that really made the Medic stand out. Now it was barely there.

"I learned a bit more English when I temporarily lived in America. It is nothing big." Medic looked at him once more.

It was then that the Russian man realized how much things had changed. "Been a long time," he muttered, mostly to himself.

"Yes. It has." The Medic tried to smile, but it was full of pain. "I always wanted to see you all again, but I thought it was impossible. When I got the chance to come here, I took it. But, ah, my car is stuck and I could not find you. I was angry…" he paused. "But now I feel much better."

"That is good," Heavy commented softly.

"Have you seen anyone else? Er, besides me?"

"No."

"Ah, I see." The Medic tried not to look disappointed. "Well, then, how has your life been these past five years?"

"A little strange without the others, but it has been fine." The Heavy had always been a man of few words, and it didn't help that an extremely awkward sentiment overcame the pair. "And you?"

"Uh – same. I traveled quite a bit, and was a university professor for a while. Somewhere in America. I guess I traveled to run away from myself…" Medic was pensive for a few moments. "The Administrator promised me my medical license back, but I never worked as a doctor again. I highly doubt that anyone wanted me to care for them anyway. The client I told you about so long ago, the one with that is now literally spineless? I am pretty sure he told everyone about me. He was one of those famous or rich men, I cannot remember." He chuckled slightly. "Didn't matter, of course. He is still without a spine."

Heavy started to laugh at the memory, which made the Medic snicker more as well. When their amused cackling had subsided, it was awkwardly silent again.

"It was…good to see you again," Medic said, his voice cracking a tiny bit. "Do you – do you miss the old days?"

"Sometimes, but…" the Heavy stopped, trying to think of a proper word. "It is best to move on."

"Yes…I agree." It was a lie. There was no way in hell the Medic _wanted_ to see eye to eye with him. If he could have, he would've started a whole new war; perhaps he force Blutarch and Redmond to fight anew. Anything, anything to get _everything_ that mattered to him back.

"Why do we not talk more over lunch?" Heavy offered. "There is a place down the road from here that we can eat at. Da, it is very good."

"Sure."

The Medic didn't know why he agreed to the offer at all, because he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't talk much after that. Still, they exchanged phone numbers after they had eaten, and the doctor kindly told his comrade that he didn't want to bother him any more than he already had. As his last act of benevolence, the Heavy freed the Medic's car for him so that it could be on the road again without any problems. He even gave him some tips on how not to get stuck again.

"One last thing!" the Medic tried to yell out the window just as he began to pull away. "What is your real name, Heavy?"

"My name? It is –"

Although the German man saw his mouth moving, it was as if sound itself had been cut out from the very earth, and too soon, the whiteness swallowed up his friend and left the former doctor all alone again, on a journey that had no discernible end.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN:** This is one of the ideas that was sitting in a Word document full of random ideas I had before I started this fic. Didn't think I'd do this one, since this fic mostly turned into happy fun friendship stories. But I wanted to do something else, so I hope it's alright here. Could be a new fic, but ehhh. I wouldn't be able to finish it, and it would probably disappoint a lot of people.


	8. Justice

_**#8:**_

_**Justice**_

The huddled mess would at times shake and shiver after long periods of time in which the Engineer and Demoman spoke to each other, at length, about what they should do next.

"We can't just leave 'im here," Engineer said, scratching the side of his chin in deep thought. His goggles hid any tell-tale sign of emotion that his eyes might have held, and the rest of his face was as rigid as stone.

"Tha's wha' _I__'__m_ sayin'," Demoman replied in eager agreement. "But he isn't movin' an' I sure as 'ell ain't gonna try ta carry 'im."

"Yeah, but we can't just sit here starin' like this." The man paused, considerate for a moment. "He prolly doesn't like it."

The Demoman groaned in impatience. "Oh, he don' wan' anyone lookin' at 'im now? How can ye tell? He hasn't moved for a good half hour."

Engineer contemplated this for a while longer before uttering, "I wonder how the others are doing."

"I'll go check on 'em. While I'm gone, ye can think o' somethin' to get 'im to move."

"Yeah."

The Scotsman was gone in an instant, and Engineer was certain it was because one could easily sense the rising discomfort in the room. Bundled up in several cleaned bed-sheets and simple underclothes was the person in question, the Medic, sitting on the floor; he seemed smaller without his usual outfit, and his back was toward his comrade. It was uncertain as to whether he was hearing any part of their conversation at all. Sounds did not seem to register anymore; he appeared to be trapped within the brutal memory of the previous night, and everything was playing on an endless loop in his mind.

There was no other choice but to try and talk to him, although choosing the right words proved difficult and time-consuming. The Engineer didn't want to overwhelm the doctor in his crucial time of need nor did he want to alienate him by seeming insensitive, so he settled on a story to start with: it was the only experience of this sort that he had under his belt.

"Back in Texas," he began slowly while advancing toward his friend. "A roomie of mine had a sister, and she was hurt real bad by her ex. He attacked her, an' – an'…she was…well, you know. Like you." The Engineer swallowed hard, for he did not know how people could say the dreaded word so easily, especially in the presence of someone who had it occur to them. He stopped to see if he was being paid attention to, and sure enough, the Medic had turned his head slightly toward him. "Now, this guy was sent to jail for a long time. If you tell me who did it, we can try to get 'im locked away, too. I dunno how you're really feelin', but I jus' wanna let ya know that there are still good people lef' in the world." He bowed his head a bit so that his hard-hat shadowed the goggles completely. Comforting was never something he was particularly good at, but like most obstacles in life it was worth taking a measly, even if a little misguided, shot in the dark.

"I thought he was good." The doctor's voice was very hoarse, and the sound shocked Engineer because he was quite certain that he wouldn't get a response. "It is beyond my knowledge to see vhy people do vhat zey do. I may be able to dissect a brain, but I do not know ze thoughts zat are in zem. Zat is…it is vhy I am scared."

"Don't be, Doc." The Texan attempted a smile. "One unstable guy can't ruin you. Ya gotta have more faith than that."

"No." The Medic did not speak for a long time before he tried to elaborate on his point. "Zis feeling isn't somezing zat goes away. Engineer, you have never really had such a zing happen to you. It is degrading, and above all, so shameful that zere are no words. I vas powerless. I could not stop him…and now all anyone vill feel for me is pity."

"It ain't your fault," the Engineer repeated. He grasped for any kind of metaphor he could use. "I mean, Spy's always sappin' my stuff, but if I let that spook bother me, it wouldn't help the team or nothin' at all."

Surprisingly, the Medic laughed, but it wasn't the kind of laugh that the Engineer wanted him to rasp out: the chuckling was void and bare of any joy. It devolved into something else entirely a few minutes later. He was crying.

It was then that the Demoman chose to walk into the room with an extra person. Sniper was with him, and his brow was creased in either concern or irritation, it was hard to tell.

"What'd ye do now?" Demoman asked him angrily.

"We were jus' talkin'." The Engineer became sheepish, tugging on his sole, yellow glove. "I didn't mean to upset him none."

Sniper interrupted them sharply. "We need to bring him downstairs. Heavy's having a real hard time of it –"

"He deserves to, ya moron!" Demoman snapped. "We found a piece o' _his_ vest in tha Doc's room this mornin'. If that isn't enough, I don' know what is."

"It isn't," the Sniper retaliated. "It's only enough ta make us suspicious of him, and anyone could have put it there. My money's on Spy being behind all of this –"

"Ye always think everythin's Spy's fault, down to who drank the last carton o' milk –"

"Boys, we need to calm down here," the Engineer said. "Let's think of the Medic. I don't believe he wants to see the guy if he's the one that did it."

"But if we can't clear Heavy in time and he's innocent, or if some other bloke's the one that did it, what can we do? What if someone else is next?" Sniper inquired.

None of them knew what else to say. After all, it was impossible to think that any of them could have done something this gruesome. When they signed up for war, they only thought they would have to deal with killing.

Soon, the room grew to be too silent once the Medic stopped sobbing.

"Is there any way ye can tell us who did it, or at leas' go downstairs for a bit? We'll bring ya right back up soon as we can," Demoman said, trying to lower his voice so he did not sound so demanding.

The Engineer saw no other option; he did not want to witness Heavy get crucified by the others for a false offense. At the same time, if it wasn't him, then there was a maniac on the loose. "C'mon, Doc. Ease all of our worries and come with us," he added to Demoman's request.

There was no reply to their pleas, and so Engineer took it upon himself to hoist the Medic up and force him to lean against his shoulder in order to walk.

It felt as though the area between the Medic's room and the basement merely one floor down went on for an eternity, because every step that the doctor took was at a drunken snail's pace. During this time, the Engineer wondered about the perpetrator's reasons for harming their Medic. Furthermore, why _this_ sort of attack?

Voices could be heard in a room down the hall. They sounded angry and heated; soon it became evident that Soldier was the one speaking, but they weren't close enough to make out anything distinct.

The Medic began to mumble in a low voice, completely incoherent and unaware of his surroundings once more. Engineer was afraid he wouldn't be able to tell them anything and decided to go ahead without him for now. He cautiously placed him against a wall, which the man soon fell against in an awkward way, and went in alone. The Scout was beside the door in mock imitation of a bouncer, his arms crossed and his stance firm. He nodded at Engineer once he came inside.

"Now, I don't know WHO the hell you think you are –" the Soldier was yelling before the sound of the door opening cut him off. "Oh, hello Engineer. How's the Doc?"

"Could be better," he admitted gruffly, glancing over at Heavy. The Russian's lip was busted and bleeding, and he had one black eye. He was bound up so tightly in a chair that the rope was beginning to cut into his flesh. However, that was not the worst part of it. Upon his facial features was a genuine look of pure confusion and deep grief, the likes of which the Engineer had never seen before, much less on a man of Heavy's size. In that flash of an instant he knew that this man was innocent. The Soldier, meanwhile, was occupied with retrieving one of his shovels from a supply box nearby. "Pyro! Do a spycheck," the Engineer ordered his friend from across the room.

The Pyro woke up and brandished his flamethrower at these words. He did a successful sweep of the entire room and found no one. At the Engineer's next command, he checked the hallway outside and had nothing to report as well.

"What's the meaning of this?" Soldier questioned, waving his shovel up in the air as though it were some sort of gavel and he was the judge.

"This is just a hunch, but I don't think Heavy did it."

"You crazy? Of course he did. All we need now is for the Medic to confirm it. You brought him, right? Let's end the confusion right now and give him what's comin'."

"You can call me all the names you'd like, but I'm stickin' to it. Heavy ain't our guy."

"Then who is?" Doubtful, the Soldier had an eyebrow raised at him, but at the same time he seemed very curious of any new information.

"I…" The Engineer looked down at the gray, cracked floor and began to play with the straps on his overalls. "I dunno."

"We don't have time for games. Bring in the Medic right now so we can finally take care of this filth."

"Don'tcha think we should let him rest for a while longer? He don't look so good right now." The Engineer knew he was stalling for nonexistent time when instead he should be helping their investigation, but he had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach about all of this.

Soldier looked to be about two seconds away from completely snapping. "If someone doesn't say somethin' soon," he growled between gritted teeth. "I think some of our comrades wouldn't be very happy knowing that _he_'s getting off scott-free, and they might do something without my saying, if you know what I mean."

The Engineer could do nothing but nod. He dragged his feet toward the door, noticing that his hands were quivering lightly as he reached for the knob. A simple shake of his head let Demoman and Sniper know what to do. Working together, they pulled the Medic to his feet and walked into the room.

What happened next immobilized the Engineer so completely that while it occurred he became the most useless person in the room. The Medic, seemingly after laying eyes on Heavy, immediately pitched such a huge fit that it was horrifying to watch. He was screaming and struggling against the men that were holding him with so much violence that they were having problems keeping him up and then dragging him back out.

In the midst of all the noise, the Engineer heard Soldier speaking very close to him. "That enough proof for ya?"

The Texan couldn't think of anything to say. Had his eyes deceived him when he thought he saw that flare of guiltlessness? Why would Heavy do such a thing?

No, it didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter because no one was going to ask why he did it, and no one in particular was going to care for the reasons. It also didn't matter because Heavy seemed too frightened to speak. Judging from the looks on his teammates' faces, they were only hungering to administer their own form of cruel, mob justice. The Engineer was quite certain that they were not doing this for concern over their Medic anymore. Lord knew that the others definitely weren't too keen on this sort of crime because of the implications it caused. Lowering his head, he walked outside toward where Sniper was left with the doctor in the hallway.

"The others are going to the basement," Sniper explained flatly, jerking his head toward the direction of the staircase leading into the darkness. "You comin'?"

"No. I think I'll just watch Doc for a bit and then I'm gonna go to my room or somethin'. This is all too much for a guy to handle in one day. I gotta go relax."

"I know what ya mean. I'll probably do the same once this is all over, mate. Least we don't have a match for a few days."

"Yeah."

The Engineer absentmindedly watched Sniper join the others as they went downstairs, all of them helping to restrain the Heavy in case he tried to struggle. Resistance did not appear to be an issue, however.

Medic was still shuddering like mad on the floor, his eyes unfocused and on the opposite wall. The man watching over him had a complete loss for any words of comfort.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN:** Been writing this one for a few days, but wasn't sure if I should upload. Tell me if you hate the subject matter or if this was utter crap or something. I can always take it down, I guess.

Sorry for the lack of updates. I'm busy with college, trying to get better at TF2, and on top of that I've got no self-confidence to post anything recently. Thanks for the people who have story alerted and favorited, though. It really surprised me. I'll try to think of some better stuff to put in this series of stories.

Also, I'm participating in NaNoWriMo this November, so I may not be able to update next month because any spare time would be spent writing my novel thing. But after that, if I get any ideas and decide to write them, then I will probably continue updating this story. Thanks for reading!


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